


Little Squires

by halfhardtorock



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Duelling, First Kiss, First Time, Jealousy, M/M, flirty Gwaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 18:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2119977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfhardtorock/pseuds/halfhardtorock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Come now, Prince. Lets have ourselves a bet. If I win, Merlin is my squire from now on. If you win, he's yours."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Squires

 

 

"I yield, I yield," Gwaine finally gasps, laughing at himself on his back in the sun. He slumps, sword splayed in the grass and Arthur wipes the sweat off his brow and smirks, says "that's what I thought."

"My lord, _my lord_!" yells a frantic, small voice nearby and Arthur snorts, steps away.

Panting, Gwaine pushes up onto his elbows, frowns at his young squire whose running across the practice field with Merlin close at his heels.

"My lord!" the boy is bleating, face red, as he closes in.

"Argh, will someone explain to the boy that I'm not anyone's _lord_?" Gwaine grumbles, falling back. Arthur smirks.

"I tried. To keep him. Back," Merlin says, puts his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

"Are you hurt, my lord!" the little squire says, and Gwaine groans " _Reginald_ , damn you."

"Come Merlin, we'll leave _Sir_ Gwaine to these capable hands," Arthur says loftily.

"My Lord, are you hurt?" Reginald says again, voice soft and boyishly worried.

Gwaine shoots Arthur a narrow-eyed look, face reddened.

"Poor Gwaine," Merlin says, looking back over his shoulder as his fingers begin their fiddling removal of Arthur's armor as they walk.

"Mmm," Arthur says, half-listening.

Lancelot meets them, his own squire trailing behind holding a sword that's bigger than him.

"My lord," Lancelot says in greeting, and then "Merlin, Luke is confused about how to set up the target--" and Merlin offers a kind "--I'll show him again. Come, Luke. It's not as hard as it seems."

Luke passes Lancelot his sword and then trips over himself to follow Merlin.

Arthur sighs, still locked tight in his gardbraces. He throws up his hand in outrage at his retreating manservant, and Merlin just shoots him a grin in return.

"Sorry, Sire," Lancelot says, not actually sounding sorry. They watch Merlin greet the other squires, who swarm round to get their lessons.

Merlin's a tall, lean figure, shoulders above the boys.

Gwaine catches up, striding away from the confused Reginald, who is carrying his sword and helmet and shield in his arms, clattering them over and over into the ground each time he trips.

"He'll ruin them," Arthur says about Gwaine's things, looking over his shoulder.

Then they all focus on Merlin, who is bending over, showing all the little squires how to fit the targets into their stands.

"You're the only one with a proper squire," Gwaine says low to Arthur.

Arthur laughs at that, the _idea_ that _Merlin_ is a proper squire.

"He's right, my lord. All of us are a bit jealous," Lancelot admits.

"Nonsense," Arthur brushes them off. "He's the most appalling squire I've ever had." He holds up his arms, showing them how he's sweating apart, underneath his armor, his eyebrows raised.

They hear Merlin's laugh suddenly, and when they look, there's a boy on the ground, smushed under the weight of a target like he yanked it from the stand so hard, it ended up barreling him over.

"We can trade," Gwaine says casually.

Arthur shoves him, smirking. Says "All of you, come up tonight after dinner. We'll have some wine."

"Yes, Sire," both say with pleasure.

 

 

He's changing into a more modest tunic when there's a knock. "Merlin?" he says, and Merlin mutters "I got it," and goes to answer the door.

From behind his changing screen, Arthur can hear Gwaine's happy voice.

"Merlin! Look at you! You look lovely this eve. Is that a new neckerchief?"

Arthur rolls his eyes, pulls on his shirt.

"Where is your pretty prince, then? Are we alone? _Merlin_ , if we're alone--" Gwaine's voice goes low and Arthur hastily moves out from behind the screen, still tying his laces, and shoots Gwaine a hard look.

Merlin is grinning, face a little flushed, and Gwaine steps away from where he's standing too close to him, says "Ah! There you are, getting yourself _prettier_ I see."

Arthur ignores him, goes to sit, waves at Merlin to pour him wine.

Merlin does it readily, pours some for Gwaine too, who smiles warmly over his cup and says "Thank you, Merlin."

Merlin blushes still, but is saved from further embarrassment by another knock on the door.

Lancelot comes in with Percival, and then Elyan appears with his own bottle of wine, grinning.

"What's that?" Merlin asks, curious.

"This, my friends, is a better bottle of wine than that one," Elyan nods at the one Merlin's pouring.

"This is the finest wine in the castle!" Arthur says, scandalized.

"Certainly," Elyan says with relish, taking the bottle out of Merlin's hands and passing him his. They smile at each other. "But this is the finest wine in _Albion_."

Skeptical, Arthur drains his cup, holds it out to Merlin for a refill.

With some help from Lancelot, Merlin removes the cork with a small noise of surprised when it _pops_ , then fills Arthur's cup.

It's soft, fragrant and like bruised fruits. Arthur frowns, looks in at it.

"Ha," Elyan says, clapping his hands. "Exactly."

Merlin merrily pours for the others, grinning at all their surprised exclamations.

"Come, you too," Lancelot says, and takes the bottle from Merlin, guides him by the shoulders to sit in an empty chair at Arthur's table.

"Oh! No..." he says, eyes on Arthur, uncertain.

Arthur sighs, waves at him to sit. So Merlin does, grinning widely, squirming a little when Gwaine lifts a leg, drapes it over Merlin's lap.

"Here, my friend, have a drink," Lancelot says fondly, and pours Merlin a cup.

They all lift their cups together, drink to the King.

 

 

Merlin slowly, slowly ends up faceplanted into Gwaine, who hitches him closer, arm around the back of his seat.

"Come here, my love, come here," he murmurs, and Merlin's smiling with his eyes closed, drunk, and leaning nearer.

"Stop molesting my servant," Arthur says, stubbornly sober. At least in expression. His face is hot though from the alcohol, wits a bit slowed. He should have stopped this hours ago.

"Gwaine," Elyan laughs, resting his face to his arm on the table. "you'll have the boy's virtue if it's the last thing you do."

Gwaine laughs too then, then turns inward to Merlin, petting his flushed, embarrassed head soothingly.

Lancelot sighs quietly, watching them.

After the petting, Gwaine groans and says "I want him, Arthur."

Arthur swallows, watches Merlin's eyes open, shoot him a look from where he's pillowed to Gwaine's chest.

"Oh," Percival says loudly in response, and his big knee jogs nervously, shaking the table leg.

Gwaine's eyes are wicked with intelligence, not slowed or dulled at all from the wine. "Give him to me. You can have little Reginald."

Arthur frowns, watches Merlin bite his lip.

"....no," Arthur says, too slow, confused.

Gwaine's voice is gravelly "part of you likes the idea though? The thought of me, _exhausting_ your squire."

Merlin shudders and Arthur stiffens a bit, says " _No_ ," louder.

The others watch, motionless.

"Come now, Prince. Lets have ourselves a _bet_. If I win, Merlin is my squire from now on. If you win, he's yours."

" _Gwaine_ ," Merlin says.

"If those are the terms, what is the bet?" Arthur says.

" _Arthur_ ," Merlin says then, sounding exasperated.

Arthur sterns his jaw and Gwaine smiles, runs his fingers through Merlin's hair, clutching him close to his chest as he says "Tomorrow. We fight."

Arthur snorts, waves his hand regally. "Easy."

"--with bowsticks," Gwaine grins.

It's Gwaine's specialty, and it gives Arthur pause.

Merlin sits up then, hair askew from Gwaine's petting, gives Arthur a hard look.

"Fine," Arthur snaps, drains his cup. "For Merlin."

"Ugh," Merlin groans, hand to his face.

 

 

He's hungover the next morning, and Merlin makes it all the more annoying, knocking things around, dropping his breakfast at the table with a loud clatter.

"Will you _stop_!?" Arthur shouts, throwing his blankets back and getting out of bed.

Merlin's eyes follow him, his face looking tight, annoyed.

"What on _earth_ is your problem? I thought you would be happy--"

"Right," Merlin rolls his eyes. "To be fought over like a woman. Oh yes, my lord, perfectly happy."

Arthur puts his hand to his hot forehead, feeling nauseated. "Well what was I supposed to do, just... _let him_ have at you?"

"You could have just ignored him. What could he have done? You're the prince!" Merlin argues.

"...he was...testing my authority," Arthur says lamely, adds "--with all that... _groping_."

"Well, I'm _yours_ and have been yours and will be yours and there's nothing to even fight about!" Merlin says passionately, and then stops, adam's apple jerking in his throat as he swallows back his feeling.

"Yes, well," Arthur says, properly blushing now. He looks away.

Merlin is quiet, goes back to his work, eyes down.

"Yes, well," Arthur says again, but can't find his other words.

"--it's not like I worry you'll lose," Merlin says softly. "It's just not fair to Gwaine--"

"-- _Gwaine_ ," Arthur grumbles.

"--who shouldn't give his hopes up for something that is given elsewhere," and with that, Merlin leaves the room.

Arthur glares at his food, confused.

"Given _where_?" he calls, outraged.

 

 

They meet on the field, shake hands.

Little Reginald is there, buried under the weight of Gwaine's cast-off armor. Arthur feels awkward in his own mail, and gestures snappily for Merlin to help him lift it off, to meet Gwaine fairly, without armor.

But then Gwaine smirks, tosses off his tunic and stands in his pale glory, in just his breeches.

"Oh for god's sake," Arthur rolls his eyes. Elyan laughs from across the field.

Gwaine grins at Merlin and Merlin seems helpless to do anything but grin back and it _heats_ Arthur in a way that makes his shoulders prickle, his hands fist. He growls "Pick up your stick."

Using his feet, Gwaine sends his long stick in the air, catches it deftly. Arthur is already bending to pick his own up, frowns hard.

"Don't fear, Reginald! In a few minutes, you'll be a Prince's squire!" Gwaine says.

Reginald's little face is full of open fear.

Before they meet, Gwaine kisses his hand, blows it to Merlin who looks a little unhappy, standing at the side, arms crossed over his chest.

"Come, you bastard," Arthur growls, rankled. They touch bowsticks and then take their stances.

 

 

"It's not like you're even using him properly," Gwaine says through his teeth, splattering Arthur with sweat as they clash, sticks together, shaking.

With a burst of strength, Arthur pushes him away and whips wide, misses when Gwaine rolls, ends up back on his feet and defensive.

"He's used well enough," Arthur argues, and their sticks hit overhead, then below, and then Arthur has to jump, narrowly avoiding being swiped off his feet by a low swing.

"He's hardly met his potential," Gwaine says, voice roughened from the fight, and they meet again, sticks between them, teeth bared.

"He's mine to do as I please," Arthur breathes, right close so only Gwaine can hear.

"Not for long," Gwaine says back and throws Arthur off. Arthur jerks away several steps, can see Merlin wincing out of the corner of his eye.

Stabbing the ground, Gwaine vaults dexterously like he's in a dance, grins to Merlin when he lands, bows with a flourish. Arthur rolls his eyes, comes at him when he's back up, hitting him easily in the hip and then the knee.

Gwaine hisses, looks like he may go down but then rights himself, knee a little bent. Hurt.

Arthur smiles, feeling a flare of pleasure that quickly leaves him when he sees Merlin glaring at him.

The distraction is enough for Gwaine to get a neat hit. Arthur takes it in the back, grunts.

"Come on, Pendragon! Lets get this over with! I'm ready to claim my little squire now!" Gwaine goads him.

Arthur grits savagely, sees Merlin's shocked face right before he twists, cracks the end of his stick into Gwaine's chin.

Gwaine gasps, goes down cold.

There is no celebration in the win, because Merlin goes to _Gwaine_ , not to him, worries over him, pillows his head in his lap.

Arthur drops his stick, shoulders feeling heavy, blood slowing. He lifts his own chainmail carries it off the field.

 

 

He falls on his back into bed, arm over his forehead, sleeps.

 

 

He wakes to Merlin removing his boots. He glances out from under his arm as Merlin begins undoing his belt.

"What are you doing?" he says, voice raspy.

Merlin startles, hand to his heart. Says "Gods. Thought you were asleep."

"I was," Arthur says, still watching from under his arm. "But then I woke up because someone was undoing my laces."

Merlin's face twitches, and he says "I was just doing my job."

"--cause I won you," Arthur agrees. Merlin nods. "Yet you didn't come with me after, like my squire should. You stayed with him."

"He was hurt," Merlin says, frowning, looking at his fingers, hands fiddled together.

"Yes, Merlin, that's what happens when men fight. And anyway, he was asking for it."

"How?" Merlin snorts. "He's harmless."

"He _annoys_ me. And he has...he has _his eye_ on you. This isn't the end. As soon as he sees another chance to claim you, he will. I'll have to watch him at every turn--" Arthur groans.

"--he's harmless because I have no desire to belong to anyone else," Merlin says, voice sharp. And when Arthur goes silent, he adds hastily "as a squire."

Arthur sits up then, feeling sluggish, and with little consideration for how badly this might go, he takes Merlin by the shoulder, says "come here then."

Merlin's face is almost comically startled as Arthur guides him over onto the bed, makes Merlin rest, pillowed to his chest.

It's _awkward_. They're frozen like this, Merlin rigid at his side. But if Gwaine thinks that this is what he's not doing properly with his squire, Arthur's going to prove him wrong.

With a trembly hand, he starts petting Merlin's hair.

Merlin makes this small noise, all surprised.

Arthur keeps petting, his jaw tight, listening to Merlin's breath quicken instead of slowing, relaxed. He's doing it all wrong, he knows he is, and it makes him _angry_.

"Arthur," Merlin gasps, "what are you doing?"

"Shut up Merlin, you're going to be my squire the right way from now on," he grits.

Merlin intake is sharp, and then he's shuddering at Arthur's breast, one hand sneaking around and _hugging_ close.

"The right way," Merlin says, sounding almost choked.

"Yes," Arthur snarls. "Do you think you can be a proper squire? Gwaine certainly thought you would for him. Will you for me--" And then Arthur pauses, words swallowed, as Merlin whimpers and lifts over him suddenly, kisses him.

They snog all hot-lipped, Merlin sighing through his nose softly.

Arthur stares wide-eyed at the ceiling as the very tip of Merlin's tongue traces the corner of is mouth.

When Merlin pulls away, there's an eager wetness to his mouth, and his eyes are very bright. "Arthur, I will. I _can_. God, I wanted to be, but you never seemed like you would ask me to..."

Arthur gapes at him, speechless.

"--you're so good on the field. Oh god, Arthur. I love watching you fight. I've always wanted to be your proper squire, give you what you need after. Your reward," Merlin says and drops again like he's helpless to it, taking Arthur's mouth in a long, tongue-sweet kiss.

When he pops off this time, Arthur whines, tries to take it back.

"Shhh, let me show you, my lord. Let me show you how much you please me," and he drifts down Arthur's body, fingers scratching as he goes, rucking Arthur's tunic about.

And then those fiddly fingers begin working open his belt again.

"Oh god, oh dear god--" Arthur gasps, arching, arm thrown over his hot face as Merlin pulls his fly apart.

"Oh, Arthur. You're my favorite. You're so good, you're so very brilliant. _Oh_...look at you," Merlin sighs, and gives a little, chaste kiss right to the tender head of Arthur's prick. And then he sheathes Arthur in rich, shocking heat.

Arthur's eyes cross and he gives a strangled cry at the feeling.

Merlin's mouth is like a cunt, so finely plush, so deep, so ready to be frigged. Arthur's face screws up as those long-fingered hands grasp his flex-tight hips, tag him gently to the bed.

"Fuck, fuck _Merlin_ \--" Arthur babbles, scrabbling at the sheets beneath him, writhing.

"Mmmmnnn," Merlin moans around him, bobbing.

Merlin's good, hot mouth scarfs him down greedily until Arthur can do nothing but bite his fist and orgasm.

 

 

Slack-faced in his own pleasure, Merlin collapses at his hip after, eyes still on Arthur's ruddy, come-exhausted cock.

Arthur's still seeing stars, pets numbly at Merlin's hair for a long time before he can think again. And then he gasps "Is that what squires do?"

Merlin lifts up, looks at him, lips looking chapped. He smiles a little shyly, says "Often."

Arthur makes a face, breathless. "Gwaine's boy is barely 12--"

"Ugh, no. Not the little ones. But it's...ah. It's what Gwaine wanted me for."

The outrage is slow to come but still intense when Arthur snarls "I'll kill him."

Merlin smiles sheepishly, kisses his bare hip with all this open admiration, Arthur's cock lifts. "I didn't want to be Gwaine's...I wanted to be... _oh_."

Merlin pillows his head there at Arthur's hip, on his crooked arm, watches with pleasure as Arthur hardens again stubbornly before his very eyes.


End file.
